The Black Prince
by GamermanZendrelax
Summary: Queen Consort Marianne vi Brittania lies dead. Her son comes before his father, the Emperor, to demand that justice be done. Instead, he teaches his son a valuable lesson about strength and weakness. And so the Black Prince is born. This is his story.
1. A Change of Fate

The thick carpet strangled the sounds of his every footfall, ensuring that nothing would pierce the oppression of silence that was presently suffocating the throne room of His Majesty, Emperor Charles zi Britannia. He had been dismissed, and no other person dared to move. No person at all dared to speak.

"Hold."

Save, of course, for the Emperor himself.

He turned to face his father. A passing glance might seem to show him nothing more than a slab of fat and dyed fabrics that somebody threw a gaudy powdered wig on top of. A more thorough look might reveal a mountain of muscle alongside the flesh, and that he was altogether draped in vibrant silks. But to truly see Charles zi Britannia, one must look into his gaze.

It is a hard gaze; solid and strong. Moreover, it carries the Emporer's monstrous will. The will that had captured the throne he sat in from the scheming clutches of almost one hundred siblings. The will that had forced power to flow from all corners of the globe to that selfsame throne. The will that daily brought a third of the earth's land and a quarter of her people to heel. And that will was now focused on Lelouch vi Britannia in a single unspoken command.

And so he knelt.

The courtiers stood. The Emperor sat. The prince kneeled. So it was for a full minute before the Emperor's voice rang out through the room like gunfire.

"Send in the next petitioner."

Lelouch brought his gaze up to meet his father's. The Emperor's head tilted almost imperceptibly forward, and then back. A nod. Lelouch stood. His body tilted forward at the hips, he walked backwards out of the throne room. After he had exited, the next petitioner passed through the door in front of him, but he didn't care to look and see who it was. The doors to the throne room—deep red obelisks of mahogany—closed with a resounding _bang_.

It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that Lelouch realized he was still bowing. He straightened his back and looked to his left to see the familiar form of Ruben Ashford. The older man was looking down at him with a sad smile. Lelouch turned his gaze to the ground, but he did not cry.

Ruben guided him out of the Imperial Palace, where a car was waiting for them. The driver opened the door for them, and, at Ruben's motion, Lelouch entered the car. The old man followed.

Ruben's voice, while not a whisper, was quiet: "Aries Villa."

They were quiet at first, but in time, Ruben spoke. "You handled yourself well," he said, "that could very well have been a disaster if not for your quick thinking." Lelouch said nothing. Eventually, Ruben spoke again. "It was dangerous to challenge him like that, but you did not insult him. That is the key." Lelouch said nothing. "I would suggest you stay out of his way for a time; keep your head down, as it were. He won't do anything to either of you now, but he may still be angry." Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the drive.

When they arrived at Aries Villa, the driver let them out. When Lelouch had stepped out of the car. "Milly should still be inside. If you'll have–" But he didn't finish speaking.

"Please." Lelouch's voice was also quiet—a squeaking rasp just on the threshold of a whisper. Ruben turned to the driver and nodded. As the two of them walked up to the doors of the villa, he could hear the car start as the driver set off in the direction of the garage. The doormen opened the way into the foyer of Aries Villa. Lelouch and Ruben both pointedly, in gaze and in step, avoided the main stairs.

Their path led them by the garden. Ruben looked out, gazing upon the grass and the shrubs, the flowers on the trees, perhaps reflecting. Lelouch looked only at the ground; he knew his way.

Neither of them spoke the entire way, but Lelouch knew Ruben was there. He could feel him, an ever-present slow-burning warmth. Empathy, but not pity. Pity is for those who have no investment. Ruben may not have lost something so irrevocably vital as a mother, but he had lost a dear friend.

So they walked the winding ways of Aries Villa. Lelouch with his head turned down, his eyes turned from the walls and the doors and the windows. Ruben behind him, his eyes drifting across vases and busts and paintings. Ruben's presence was warm and soft. The air was cold and dry.

In time, they reached a particular door. Lelouch stopped in front of it, hesitating for the first time that day. Thinking that, perhaps, in the time he had been gone, something might have happened. That she might have been moved too soon. That–

Lelouch felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to his left to see Ruben looking down at him with a sad smile.

"If something had happened," he said, "I would have been called."

Lelouch looked back to the door. Slowly, he opened it.

"Lelouch, Grandfather."

"Hello Millicent."

Lelouch said nothing. He walked across the room, to a seat next to Milly, and looked up. There, lying in bed, swaddled in blankets and wreathed in pillows, was Nunnally.

"I am going to be getting the servants in order. If any of you need anything, just ring the bell." Lelouch looked to his right. On the nightstand beside the bed, surrounded by pale yellow roses, soft violet tulips, and weeping white orchids, was a single crystal bell with a polished wooden handle. The doors closed softly as Ruben left.

Milly sat beside him, warm and soft. They both looked at Nunnally. For a while, they were silent, but then Milly spoke. "While you were at the Palace, the doctors said that she should wake up in a week or so." Lelouch said nothing. Milly said nothing more. She did not know what to say—she wanted, more than anything, to say something, but could not find the words.

Milly leaned towards Lelouch and wrapped he arms around him. At first, she was worried that he wouldn't react. Then, he made a noise. It was quiet and she wasn't sure what it was. Then he did it again, a little louder: a sob. Slowly, he turned toward her, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he began to cry. He reached his arms up around her and squeezed tightly. She squeezed back, and cried with him.


	2. Unto the End of Time

"Are you there Lelouch?"

The young Prince stirred from his tired daze. He was sitting—well, more slouching—in the chair. To his right was the nightstand, bathed in late-morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. The flowers were changed daily, because he wouldn't let them wilt in inch in her sister's presence—even if she couldn't see them. The crystal bell had not gathered dust.

"Y–yes Nunnally, I'm here."

"Were you sleeping in the chair, Lelouch?"

"What? No, I–"

"You can't keep doing this Lelouch!" Her voice faded into hushed tones, and every word ached, "You need to sleep in a bed. And eat at a table. And wash yourself. And it's been three days, and I," she paused, "I'm afraid," another pause, "What you're doing to yourself is... I don't want to lose…" The words died on her lips as she reached a hand out to him. He lurched forward, grasping it in both of his.

"I," his words were slow and crooning, "I'll take care of myself, Nunnally. I promise." For a while, they just sat there. He was cold. Her hand was warm and soft.

Eventually, she spoke two words, ever so softly, "Thank you."

Soon after, there was a soft knock at the door. It opened a crack, and the voice of the chief butler could be heard, "My Lord, my Lady, are you both awake?"

Nunnally answered before Lelouch could process what the butler had said, "We are, Sallings. Is something the matter?"

The door opened wide enough to see Sallings' wizened features before he spoke again, "Nothing is the matter, your Highness, but the two of you have a visitor."

Lelouch's eyebrows rose, "Who is it?"

"A man by the name of Jeremiah Gottwald."

The name triggered a spark of familiarity in the back of Lelouch's mind, but he did not know why. "Send him in."

The door opened fully, and a man stepped through. He was dressed finely—a deep blue double-breasted waistcoat with a violet cravat, and a jacket and pants to match—a sign of his wealth, and thus good breeding. His teal hair was swept back, and he looked on them with eyes twisted in some sort of pain. Lelouch could see from the slope of his shoulders, even as he bowed, that he was nervous. Sallings stood at the door behind him.

Rising from his bow, he spoke, "Greetings, my Lord, my Lady."

"Greetings Mister Gottwald," Lelouch said, his tone flat, "what is your business?"

"Hello Mister Gottwald," Nunnally's voice was far gentler, "were you a friend of our mothers'?" Her voice was serene, but her hand had Lelouch's in a death grip.

That, quite visibly, caught Gottwald off guard. He stammered for a moment before he began speaking. "I would not claim such familiarity with Lady Marianne, though I had spoken with her, once or twice, and she had earned my respect—and that of every citizen of the Empire—several times over."

Nunnally tilted her head to the side, slightly, as Gottwald finished rambling, "Mister Gottwald, your voice is familiar. You've been to Aries Villa before, haven't you?"

"I, I have, my Lady. Frequently. I was a part of Lady Marianne's security detail." And no person in the room dared to breathe. Lelouch's eyes snapped to Sallings, but the chief butler's gaze was glued to the floor. "I–" Lelouch's eyes snapped back to Gottwald, who had stepped forward. "The investigation—" another step, and Lelouch stood, interposing himself between Gottwald and Nunnally, but never letting go of her hand, "—that utter farce, I," a final step, and he fell to his knees, his arms hanging limply at his sides. "I failed. I failed Lady Marianne, and I failed the both of you." He dropped to his hands, trembling, bringing himself fully beneath Lelouch. "I've been declared innocent of any wrongdoing, but I _failed_. I was derelict in my duty. I have come to submit myself to your judgment." For a moment, the room was still.

"I forgive you." Nunnally's voice rang in the solemn air like a bell. A gasp could be heard from Lelouch's feet.

"My Lady–" but Gottwald did not get the chance to finish.

"Jeremiah Gottwald." The man looked up, and he did not see the terrified little boy whose mother lay dead. He saw the Prince, commanding and bathed in glory. As low gaze met high, he found a single, unspoken command.

And so, Jeremiah Gottwald stood.

The Prince's gaze was unfaltering, even as the man towered over him. "You will serve."

The man knelt before his Prince. "Unto the ends of time, my Lord."

"Good." Lelouch breathed a tremulous sigh. "Now, I am hungry," he turned behind him, to his sister, "do you want anything, Nunnally?"

"No," her voice was filled with relief, "I think I'll just rest for a while longer."

* * *

Fine fabrics trailed around windows, which let in the midday light. The massive table was dressed in a similar style, the mahogany bared save for a particular section. Here sat the only two patrons that the great dining hall of Aries Villa would see this day. They were the young Prince and his knight—or rather, his soon-to-be-knight. Their plates had been cleaned.

"This room," said the Prince, "is far too large. I'll be needing a study."

"I am certain a proper room can be found in the Villa, my Lord."

The Prince made a noncommittal sound. "Tell me, Jeremiah, were you at my audience with the Emperor?"

Jeremiah found his phrasing odd, "I was not, my Lord."

"Do you know what happened?" A fire was stirring in the Prince's eyes, and in the pit of his stomach, "Do you know what happened when I demanded justice from that man?"

Before speaking, Jeremiah paused to collect his thoughts. Since they had left his sister's room, he had, for those few words he had said, maintained a neutral tone. And in his time as a guard in these very halls, he had not seen his Prince this angry. "He did not speak of justice."

"He taught me a lesson." Jeremiah did not speak, unsure of what to say. "It was not, I have little doubt, the lesson he had meant to impart, but it is what I learned from him."

"What did the Emperor teach you, my Lord?"

"What he told me," said the Prince, "was that the strong do what they can, and the weak suffer what they must. What he taught me," the Prince's mouth turned up at the corners, and the fire smoldered in his eyes, "was that weak live at the pleasure of the strong."

Jeremiah mulled over what his Prince had said before speaking again himself. "So you will duel with the strong, then?"

The Prince scoffed. "Hardly a duel. Nothing so fair as that."

"I see."

"You have some cleverness Jeremiah. I doubt most people would have picked up on that."

Jeremiah's eyebrows leapt up his forehead, and he rocked slightly backwards. "That was a test?"

Soft laughter tumbled from the Prince's lips. "You will serve me well, Jeremiah."

The Knight-to-be's back straightened. "I wish for nothing more."

"I think you will," said the Prince, "but I don't mind."

* * *

"So you have a knight now?" Lelouch had hardly been able to tell Milly anything over the phone. Once she had pieced together that he had left Nunnally's side for a span longer than ten minutes, she had insisted on coming over to visit. At present, they were in the library. Not that Lelouch expected to get any reading done while she was over, or that she intended to, but the chairs were soft, the fire was warm, and they would not be disturbed.

"Not yet," said Lelouch, a book resting in his lap even though he knew he wouldn't read a single page, "the ceremony–"

But Milly had decided to give him the honor of finishing his sentence for him, "Is just what makes it official! You said he already swore his loyalty to you, didn't you?"

"Well, ye–"

"Then he's your knight!" Milly exclaimed, "So, where is he?"

"What?"

"Where is this Gottwald staying? The third floor? The room next to yours?" Milly gasped, "In _your_ room?"

Taken aback by his friend's outburst, Lelouch took a moment to respond. "No! Of course not!"

"Then where is he?" Milly was near-shouting in one-quarter frustration and three-quarters glee.

"At his own home!" Milly stammered for a moment, and Lelouch did not give her the opportunity to respond, "He swore his loyalty to me _yesterday_. He couldn't possibly have moved in by today, even if it was appropriate. Which it _isn't_ , and won't be until his knighthood is official."

Milly's next words were more apprehensive than Lelouch would have expected, "will I get to meet him?" And of course, Lelouch's mind boggled.

"Of course you will, Milly. You're my best friend." And for a while there was a silence—amicable, if the slightest bit awkward.

"There's something going on," Milly said—more proclaimed, really—"and Grandfather isn't telling me what."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Whenever the court comes up, he gets really vague. And I can see him staring off at nothing when he thinks I'm not looking." Milly sighed, "Mother won't tell me anything either. Father would, but he's off being a Colonel."

"And you're sure he's hiding something?"

"Whenever I ask him what's going on, he just ducks the question." Lelouch scratched his chin. If it were grief, Ruben would not hide it from Milly. Something was definitely wrong at court.

"Ruben," Lelocuh finally said, "is a skilled statesman. Whatever the matter may be, he can take care of it better than anyone."

Milly giggled, "Even the Second Prince?"

"Schneizel may be a genius," Lelouch scoffed, "but genius can only do so much. Ruben has forty more years of experience. Whatever it is, he'll manage it."

Milly giggled again, more softly this time, "Thanks, Lelouch."


	3. A Game of Chess

A/N: Well, this took a little while to write—but it's over twice as long as the last chapter! That's gotta count for something, right?

I toyed around with the chronology here a bit. The first scene and the last scene are actually just one great big event, while everything in between is a great big flashback—or would that be a great big series of normal-sized flashbacks? One or the other.

Review Responses:

phantomace13: You're not the only one who likes to see the less common pairings, but I'm afraid you won't be finding them here. Milly and Lelouch's relationship will be important, just platonic. I'll probably tease it a little bit, but nothing substantial. And Anya… well, they're not actually related, but that just feels a little to… incest-y for me to enjoy it. It can probably be done in a way that doesn't gross me out, but I certainly haven't found it yet.

NeoBushido and god of all: Thank you! I hope you keep enjoying the story.

* * *

"Queen to B6"

"Knight to K3."

"Rook to Q5."

If Lelouch were to think on it, he might realize that chess was not what most people might consider a relaxing pastime. Lelouch was not most people, and the clacking of the marble pieces against the marble board was audial ambrosia to him.

"King to B7."

"Pawn to K4."

And, more to the point, making such observations would require Lelouch's full attention not be held by what lay in front of him: the game, and his opponent—Jeremiah had been dismissed for the time being, but he was doubtless close at hand, should it come to pass that his lord required him. The game had been going on for the past hour-and-a-half. His opponent was difficult to read. Lelouch saw an opening, and he reached his hand out over the board. He paused, looking over the pieces again. After a handful of seconds of observation, he snatched the piece.

"Bishop to B5. Check"

With slow grace, and without pause, his opponent took up his own piece.

"Knight to B5."

He was not in checkmate, nor even check, but Lelouch's eyes caught his opponent's shoulders slightly lessen in tension. It was not something Lelouch would have seen had he not been carefully looking for some kind of tell. His eyes snapped back to the board, scanning every row and every piece. There was something familiar about the board; the arrangement of the pieces sparked something in the back of his mind.

His eyes widened, and his shoulders slumped. He knew.

"Ashford versus South Pendragonshire." Lelouch's words were barely above a whisper.

His opponent nodded. "Ruben's father was undeniably a Grandmaster. A player for the ages."

Lelouch nodded. "That was before the Bastard of Pendragon, though."

"That loss hardly precludes old Francis from history giving him his due. Nobody could have seen a player like Adrien coming."

Lelouch flashed him a grin, "Feeling some sympathy for your old teacher, Schneizel?"

His older brother chuckled, "Perhaps, but that doesn't mean I am wrong." Schneizel's face faded into a thoughtful gaze down at the board. "I remember it. When I realized Francis was going to lose, it broke my heart."

"What did the old Lord Ashford think?"

This got another chuckle out of Schneizel. "He thought fondly of it. I believe his words were, 'That game was the best six hours of my life.' He was certainly close enough to Adrien afterwards." His face fell; a frown could only just be seen on the corners of his lips. "They were the best of friends when they sailed off to capture the islands off of Zaire."

The dust hung in the sunlight streaming in through the window, as the flecks of quartz in the chess pieces sparkled.

"Lelouch," said Schneizel, "what do you think of the war with Japan?"

Such was their custom. Whenever Schneizel could escape from his duties as Prime Minister, and Lelouch from his tutoring, they would meet. They would play. They would speak.

Lelouch thought for a moment. "I think," he said, "that something is happening underneath."

"Oh?" Schneizel was again unreadable, "How do you mean?"

Lelouch's mouth settled into a hard line. "It will take no more than a year, with the Nightmare Frames deployed as they are. It will be a decisive and crushing victory, but one with long term consequences." Schneizel gave Lelouch a nod, telling him to continue. "We could have won without the Knightmares; Japan is small enough, and our navy large enough, that we could have set up a blockade somplete enough to make all aid short of war from the EU or Chinese Federation wholly ineffective. By deploying them in the field, we're letting the rest of the world develop countermeasures, or even Knightmares of their own. If this were just about resources, then we would have saved the Nightmares for a more dangerous foe."

"So, you think there is something else in Japan that our father desires?"

Lelouch scowled. "If it were something besides the obvious, then Britannia would have been better served by discretion. This is a message."

Schneizel pursed his lips. "If so, it certainly isn't for the other superpowers. As you said, the Knightmares would be better off conserved. Very well then Lelouch, what is this message, and who is it for?"

Lelouch leaned forward onto the table. "I don't know what it is, but it's to somebody outside of the Emperor's reach."

Schneizel's eyebrows rose. "You think this is all a message to a specific person?"

"It can't be to a nation," Lelouch's mouth was dry, "it's too heavy-handed for anyone save Europe or China, and it can't be for them. Any organization or person within Britannia would be better served by something inside Britannia. An organization outside of Britannia could be contacted directly, and almost certainly would not warrant something on this scale. Therefore, it is for a person. A person who is not living in one of the Empire's Dominions, with a low enough profile for the Emperor to be unable to find them—making something large and ham-handed the only conceivable way to get the message across."

Schneizel took a sip of wine, untouched since their game began. "And what, exactly, would the Emperor want with a person like that?"

Lelouch sighed, leaning back in his chair, and looking to the dust floating in the sunlight, "If we knew that, then we might be able to know what the whole mess is supposed to say."

"We?" Lelouch looked back down to his brother's face. "I can find no faults in the flow of your logic, I will admit. The final premise assumes that person and message, whomever and whatever they may be, are especially important, but the circumstance is strange enough that I could accept that. The only problem is that there is a simpler answer."

"What would that be?"

"Speed." Schneizel took another sip. "This war will not last more than a year, a year and a half if the Japanese command is particularly brilliant. We could have won the war without deploying the Knightmare frames, yes. However, with seventy percent of the world's Sakuridite entering Britannia's hands so rapidly, every other country in the world with even an echo of a presence on the international stage will be at least partially reliant on Britannia for energy, and as such will not be able to interfere in our activities."

"Unless we attack them, or their allies." Lelouch took a sip from his glass, which held water. "So we would only be able to go to war in Sub-Saharan Africa or with Australia to avoid war with either Europe or China. And Australia is much too empty to be worthwhile."

"So the Empire's next target is Africa."

"The Empire's next target is _in_ Africa. Europe may be slow to respond, democracy being what it is, but the Chinese Federation, for all of its faults, is run by centralized planning. Inefficient though it may be, that will enable action in short order."

"Less than a decade, in fact."

Lelouch was slack jawed in astonishment. Partially because Schneizel had just spoken information that implied a great deal of sensitive knowledge. Mostly, however, because of the information itself. "That's enough time for a single war. Maybe two. We can't take an entire continent that quickly."

"No. We can't."

"Even if we could," Lelouch's voice grew in pitch as he grew slightly more hysterical, "Europe and China would move to stop us, Sakuridite be damned!"

"Language, Lelouch." Schneizel took another sip of his wine.

With a heaving sigh, Lelouch slumped back into his chair, his eyes falling to the chess board. Schneizel looked up at the dust floating in the sunlight.

* * *

Andreas Darlton's eyes looked over the papers in front of him another time. Every written word was black, and inked out in a tight, neat script. Every word was clearly chosen with care, and every idea placed thoughtfully. The diagram was, at least in form, considerably less impressive. The hand that had drawn them was not so skilled in that art as it was in writing. Nevertheless, the ideas were a thing of beauty.

"Lelouch," he said at last, his eyes still on the papers, "I had expected a charge with the Knightmare Frames, to penetrate deep into the enemy's lines."

"It would have been able to kill the enemy commander, if it worked," the young prince was standing in front of Darlton's desk, back straight, hands clasped behind his back, "which would leave their forces directionless, at least for a time—allowing my men to tear through them; it would take a critical enemy battalion out of the war, but every man under my command would die. Aa tactical loss for a greater strategic victory."

"Instead," Darlton spoke slowly as his eyes rose the royal, "You modified the bombers to run an aerial Knightmare insertion behind enemy lines. Then charged, encircling the enemy."

Lelouch nodded tersely. "It accomplishes everything that the charge does, with the added possibility capturing the commander instead of just killing him, and a greater survival rate amongst my men."

They spoke further. About how Lelouch's impromptu modifications to the bombers would handle carrying a Knightmare Frame. About the likelihood of success; the skill of the soldiers and the failing of morale. On-and-on they spoke, and when they were finished another half hour had passed.

Talk of tactics and strategy finished at last, Darlton looked Lelouch in the eyes, "Lelouch, this was supposed to be a lesson about sacrifice. Giving up what you have—your men, your artillery, your position—to impose a victory so costly that it cripples the enemy; imposing a pyrrhic victory. Instead, you turned the only battle we've lost to the Japanese into a complete victory."

"Commander, the first thing you taught me was that my men are my responsibility. They are prepared to die for Britannia, but–"

"That is not the issue here." Darlton leaned back in his chair. "I wouldn't tell you this, but I'm fairly sure you can't get any more proud than you already are. There is not a single person I've spoken to about this 'Miracle of Istukushima,' as the Japanese call it, who has been able to find a solution like this. I had thought of something similar, but I'm overseeing the project Princess Cornelia commissioned to design and build an aircraft dpecifically for aerial Knightmare insertions."

"Schneizel could have done it. And maybe this 'Tohdoh' as well."

"Tohdoh, however brilliant he may be, is the enemy, and Prince Schneizel left the military." Darlton's tone was bitter.

"In some ways, politics is more dangerous than war. At least on the battlefield, you know who's shooting at you."

Darlton laughed. "Neither of them are ten years old, either."

Lelouch smiled. "I've had the best teachers."

* * *

"Lelouch, we both know that if we play chess, you will be bored, and I will be frustrated. Hardly a good time for either of us."

"A good point, I suppose. Then what do you want to do, Clovis.?"

The elder prince leaned back in his chair. "Why not just talk?"

Lelouch quirked an eyebrow. "Talk?"

"It's not like we have lot of things we can go out and do," Clovis leaned even further back, staring up at the roof, "but we have to be able to talk about something."

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

Clovis' head fell down, his arms reached up in a stretch. "See any movies lately?"

"I haven't had the time." The air was thick.

Clovis was slow to respond. He brought his arms down, and he leaned into the desk. "Lelouch, the only thing I know about what you're going through is that I have absolutely no idea how it feels. But if you don't take the time to enjoy yourself, then there isn't going to be much of you left."

Lelouch looked down at his desk Several moments passed. Just as Clovis was about to sigh, Lelouch spoke again. "I've been reading a lot."

"Oh? Something aside from what your tutors give you, eh?"

"I finished _The Stars of Okhotsk_ last night."

Clovis blinked, twice. "Jesus, Lelouch. I always knew you read above your age level, but that book is…" He was at a loss for words, and supplemented his silence with hand gestures that, while vague, were sufficient for someone who had read the book.

"You've read it?"

"Yeah, I have. But that, I mean–just…" Clovis sighed. "When you said you'd been reading, that wasn't what I'd expected."

"'The last war Britannia lost was over a hundred years ago. An invasion of Asia met its doom in the waters off the Okhotsk Peninsula.'"

"'The sky was all an inky blackness above the _H.M.S Glory_ when the blinding mortar-fire filled the sky, and the engines destroyed, making way for the boarding party.' From the summary on the back." Clovis sighed. "A book about war. Man as animal, ripping and tearing with hands and teeth."

"'The struggle for survival; the dark metal caves below the decks were awash in blood as any man who dared to show weakness was ripped apart and devoured.'"

Clovis stared at his brother. "Don't, Lelouch. Please, don't."

Lelouch was silent.

* * *

"His Highness is in his study, my Lord. Shall I take you to him?"

"That would be grand, Sallings. I've only been there once or twice."

"As you wish. Right this way, Lord Ashford." The winding ways of Aries Villa were not unfamiliar to him, but he was not well acquainted with the bowels of the place, where Lelouch had decided his study would be. With Sallings as his guide, the journey was complete in short order. The door was light in color, perhaps a lacquered teak, with few carvings and no ornamentation. Sallings rapped gently on the pale entryway, and Ruben heard a familiar young voice through the door. The chief butler opened the door a crack, and spoke to his master. Soon, the doorway was opened wide enough for Ruben to pass through.

The room was Spartan; the walls were an unadorned, pale yellow, two mostly empty bookshelves were pressed against the back wall, between which a large square window framed by crimson blinds let natural light flood the room. In the center was a desk, rectangular and unadorned, on which sat a messy stack of books, numerous loose-leaf papers, and a marble chess set that was easily more expensive than everything else in the room combined. A single chair with a red cushion lay on Ruben's side of the desk—its simple appearance carefully guarding how comfortable it truly was. Behind the desk—behind where the papers lay, specifically—sat a raven-haired boy with dark violet eyes, his mouth upturned in a small smile. Behind the boy's right shoulder stood a man, rigid and unmoving, with teal hair and orange eyes.

"Ruben!" Lelouch's face grew slightly red even as his smile grew slightly larger. "Sorry about this mess. I was in the middle of something for Commander Darlton, and, well–"

"You have no need to apologize. I can hardly fault you for being so engaged with your studies, Lelouch." The man standing behind Lelouch bristled, and gave Ruben a distasteful glare, but said nothing.

Seeing Ruben wither under his knight's gaze, Lelouch—not turning—said, "Jeremiah, Ruben is a friend."

The knight relented in his gaze, and began to stare stoically at the wall across from him. "Of course, your Highness."

That settled, Ruben grabbed the chair, and with a nod and a dismissive hand gesture from Lelouch—sat across from the young Prince. Sallings closed the door behind him. The elderly lord fidgeted in his seat for a moment before sighing, prompting a worried look from Lelouch. "Lelouch, how acquainted are you with the goings on at court?"

He grimaced. "Not so well as I should be. I know you've been having some trouble at court, but I haven't been able to gather exactly what. Do you need anything from me?"

The old man sighed again. "I would not ask you to spend what resources you have, even if I thought it could do anything. At this point, I doubt anyone but the Emperor himself could but delay the inevitable."

As he spoke, Lelouch's face grew further etched with lines of concern. "Ruben, what's going on?"

"The court—those vipers—are trying to see me stripped of my lands."

"What!?" Lelouch was standing in an instant. Lines of worry were now exchanged for red fury. "How could they? How dare they? I–I'll…" Lelouch's voice petered out into indeterminate sounds of rage. His open hands slammed into the desk as his weight collapsed forward, crumpling some papers and sending others falling gracefully to the floor. Lelouch didn't look up from the desk when he spoke again. "How." It was not a question, but a demand.

"In addition to our friendship, your mother and I were close political allies," Ruben began, but did not have the chance to finish.

"And now your enemies are taking you out before you have the opportunity to recover." None of them spoke, because they all knew Lelouch was right.

Ruben cleared his throat. "As I said, it can only be delayed at this point, but there is a lot I can do to delay it. And even without my title, they cannot strip me of my wealth without something far more solid than anything they will be able to bring to hand."

Lelouch looked up, into the old man's eyes. "You have a plan."

He nodded. "Even if I can't stop what's coming, I can still keep the vipers from profiting. I just need to last until this war with Japan is over. If I can fund the reconstruction and settlement, and I sell my title, then I'll be out of their grasp and my family will still be able to live comfortably."

"Sell your…" Lelocuh's eyes widened. "You want to sell me Ashfordshire?"

"If I'm going to lose my noble status, then I'd rather give it freely to a friend than let one of those vipers take it for themselves. I don't even need to profit from it—the investments I make in Japan will be enough."

"You won't be able to live in Pendragon anymore."

Ruben grimaced. "No, but when Japan becomes Area Eleven, it will serve well enough for all of us." He looked up to the window, and his eyes grew distant. "It will hurt Millicent to leave, though. Her best friend is here."

"How long can you hold out?"

"A year at most. Probably closer to half a year."

"The war might last longer than that. The Japanese are folding like paper in every battle, but they've resolved to fight to the last."

Ruben closed his eyes. "I know."

"I could let you stay here, or at the estates in Ashfordshire. Mother left the Villa to Nunnally and I in equal parts, but I'm sure she wouldn't object. And if you have to get out of Pendragon, well, they will technically be my estates, then."

Ruben looked to the floor. His voice was hushed. "Thank you, Lelouch." He began to cry.

* * *

"Schneizel." Lelouch's voice was faint, and his tone was hesitant.

"Is this about the Ashfords?"

Lelouch said nothing.

"My choice to enter parliamentary politics made me more than a few enemies at court. I can't stop this. I just don't have the resources." Schneizel looked down to his brother, who was still staring at the chess board.

Lelouch looked up at his brother, his face set hard. "Can you delay it? Ruben has a plan, but he needs to last until the war with Japan is over."

Schneizel looked at Lelouch thoughtfully. "I may be able to help him. After all, I have enemies of my own amongst the horde are Ruben's heels." He took another sip from his wine glass. He set it, empty, on the desk. "It may not be enough. That will depend entirely on how long the war takes."

They were both silent. Schneizel looked at Lelouch. Lelouch looked at the chess board.

"I couldn't protect them." Lelouch's voice was hushed. "They're my friends, and I couldn't protect them."

"Lelouch."

The young prince looked up at his brother.

"You are many things, Lelouch. A barbed wit. A sharp mind. A gentle soul. A caring friend." Schneizel took a deep breath. "But you are also ten years old." Lelouch was silent. "You are already more capable than half of those vipers combined, but you have no resources; you have yet to grow into your abilities. Once you have, I do not doubt that there will be little that can stand in your way."

"Are you afraid of me, Schneizel?"

The elder prince chuckled. "If I had reason to believe that we might one day be enemies, then I would."

Both brothers leaned back in their chairs and stared silently up at the motes of dust floating in the sunlight.

A/N: A quick heads up: my college is on a janky sort of trimester system, so I have finals next week. I won't be able to work much on the next chapter until March 31.


	4. Interlude: Thunder and Flame

Review Responses:

Phantomace13: I was genuinely surprised to learn that I didn't have lines between scenes. Especially since I had them on the AO3 copy of the story. Thanks for the head up!

Ewertondragon: Lelouch will be having the help of several friends, I assure you.

Skycroft: Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad to have you along for the ride.

* * *

The thunder had stopped. For days and nights it had boomed and roared, but now the sky was silent. Miraculously, the shrine had not been laid low, but all within knew what was coming. It could already be heard, however faintly: The whirring and spinning, the tearing of earth. There were many there; the shrine was large, and nor near to anything of strategic importance. Yet all now quaked.

One woman held her two children close to her as she knelt on the floor, cold with the night's chill. Her son's chin lay nestled in the crook of her neck as he clung to her, and her daughter's head was sheltered by her stomach as she shivered close to the ground.

Only one person dared to look out a window—a boy, nearing the cusp of manhood. Were the rest not too terrified to breathe, they might shout at him to remove himself from view. But his head, for all of his fear—and make no mistake, he did know fear—was level. Those who were coming would know the reasons they had hid here, and so would know to look here for those who had hid. Hiding away inside the shrine would accomplish nothing.

That boy could see, in the distance, friendly forces in a disorganized mess. The once proud tanks and infantry, rolling, fleeing, screaming.

Something bolted in from out of view, piercing a lagging tank. Then he saw It roll into view: a man shaped monolith of metal, pale red skin gleaming in the light of the full moon. The tank burst into light and heat, but even as the flames lapped at the night sky, the red giant was undaunted. It rolled away, faster than the tank had been. More like it followed in its wake—the boy counted twenty-four—and trucks loaded with armored men followed them.

The boy, with swaying steps, left the window. Breath slow, and eyes glazed, he wandered over to the corner where the mother knelt, clinging to her children.

The son turned away from his mother's neck, his face wet with water and salt, his voice a trembling whisper. "O-Ougi?"

The boy—Ougi—fell backwards onto the floor with a thump—everyone winced at the noise, but none were willing to speak to rebuke him. "I don't think we can make it away this time, Noato."

There was no reply. Fear gave way to despair, and the silence was gradually broken by sloppily hushed moans and sobs. Even still, as throats dried and tears ran dry, silence overtook the shrine, and no person moved.

It stayed as such until the dawn broke. With dawn, all within could hear with looming dread the whirring and spinning and the tearing of earth. The doors to the shrine burst open, and men in strange armor and stranger masks entered. Not everyone had worn out their throats before, and the air was filled with some screaming. A woman bolted, desperately trying to get between the men and through the door. One grabbed her by the arm, and threw her to the floor. Another pointed his gun at her. The air was filled with a rapid succession of explosions.

Nobody else moved.

More soldiers entered, their words incomprehensible to the people huddled in the shrine, save for the mother, but with motions they made their meaning clear: gather up over there.

The mother took her son's hand in hers, and leaned down to rouse her daughter from her stupor.

"Excuse me." The words were Japanese, but thick with a Britannian accent. The mother raised he head towards the voice. There was a man, dressed in cloth instead of polymer, his hands were at his sides with one holing what looked like a picture, his head adorned with a short-brimmed hat, and his bare face cold and hard—as iron. "Ms. Kouzuki?"

The mother's eyes widened, she retracted slightly back from the man, and down over her daughter. "Y-yes. How–"

"I am Colonel Ashford." The man raised the arm with the picture. "A friend sent me to look for you."

Kouzuki's hand slowly reached towards Ashford's, and took the picture from him. As she looked at it, her eyes grew wide, and she breathed in sharply. On the left, she stood, smiling, and wearing much finer cloth than she was now. On the right, was a man, clearly Britannian, smiling just as wide.

"He wasn't content to lose you, whatever the Emperor's orders. Come with me."

Kouzuki leaned again down to her daughter. She spoke gently. "Kallen, did you hear that? Dad sent someone to keep us safe."

Naoto stepped up to Ashford, letting go of his mother's hand. "What about Ougi?" He grabbed one of Ashford's arms and pointed to where his friend was being corralled with the others. "We can't just leave him here."

Ashford looked from Naoto, to Ougi, to Kouzuki. His voice was much quieter than before. "I thought Stadtfeld only had two children?"

Kouzuki was just as quiet. "He does."

A pained look flashed across Ashford's face, but was replaced again with iron just as quick. "Stay near to me." He turned to the crowd of Japanese, and walked up to the Britannian directing the others, It was clear from his dress that this was another officer. "Captain."

The Captain turned to face them. "Ah, Colenel! I see you've done that good deed of yours. Congratulations."

"I've picked up another. A soldier who died at Itsukushima."

The captain chuckled. "Ever the altruist. Well, I guess you'll be stuck with my company for a while longer, eh?"

Ashford jutted his chin towards Ougi. "He's standing over there."

The Captain turned to look at Ougi, then back to Ashford. "No mother?"

"None of the women here match her picture."

"A shame, that. If her boy's here then she's probably dead."

Ashford's face was impassive. "I suspect as much as well, but I'll have to ask the boy to be sure."

"Well, don't let me keep you. Once you're gone, my boys can set to work."

Ashford turned and looked Ougi in the eyes. "Come."

His first step was tentative, but he dashed to Naoto's side when none of the soldiers moved to stop him. Wordlessly, with Ashford at the head, the five of them left the shrine.

Pink and orange danced across the sky, The red giants, strange guns in their still grip, surrounded and faced the shrine. The group marched their way to a truck not ten yards from the shrine, and filed their way into the back, Ashford pausing at the step and entering last. As they took their seats under the covered truck, they could see the Britannian soldiers filtering out of the shrine through the vehicle's open back. As the engine started, all the Britannians had left, but none of the Japanese.

"I'm sorry." All the others turned to look at Ashford.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" Kouzuki's voice held the relief and confusion that all the others felt.

"This is sick." While his face was still as iron, his eyes had grown wet. "It came from above me, I couldn't stop it."

The red giants pointed their misshapen guns at the shrine.

"You four were the only ones I could save."

Red and orange tongues lashed out before the red giants, and the air was filled with the sounds of terror.


	5. The Chain of Command

Author's Note: My, my, my. It has been a while, hasn't it? I never intended to leave this story untouched for so long, and I am sorry for it, but here we are. Nowhere to go but forwards, I suppose. Well, backwards, first; I've got a few people to respond to.

hopeson15: I enjoyed your reactions to each chapter. I suppose that wasn't a very nice place to drop off the face of the earth, eh? I hope you continue to enjoy it.

Parzival vi Britannia: I have not seen war, but I do know what people are capable of at their worst. I can't help but imagine the Britannia, or at least some portion of it, would sink to some considerable depths of depravity. Again, not the nicest place in the story for me to disappear, but there's nothing to be done about that now.

I hope you all enjoy.

* * *

Despite the tragedy, the gardens clearly had not been allowed to suffer. All around them, the flowers bloomed, the grass shone under the afternoon sun, and the trees curled their slow grasp away from their bodies into the endless blue. Some small part of her screamed to move or fidget, but she quashed it. The nearest of those trees, the greatest in the garden, loomed directly In front of her. The thick shade it cast fell all around her, and while she knew that it extended no further than two strides at its longest, the darkness felt heavy on her shoulders.

"Please, Lieutenant," her host gestured to the seat across the table from him, "have a seat."

She did, with the requisite deference, sit across the table from him. At a glance, the shade—that void to which the great tree had denied passage to the light born of the sun's fury—did not seem so heavy about him as it was her. Where it pressed upon her, he looked to wear it like some great black cloak.

Her voice trembled for some release, aching for a cry not quite of panic, but easily beyond mere anxiety. She gave no ground. She bore the dignity of her service and her command. Nevertheless, she had not imagined a teenager—even royalty—to possess such a presence, regardless of her nerves.

And where the prince was enshrouded, the man behind him, at his left, stood just beyond the boundary of the shade, and within the light. She knew the face there, but he had not once sought her gaze. Instead, his own pierced into the far distance with its vigilance. She saw him only out of the corner of her eye; she did not dare look away from the prince.

"Do you play, Lieutenant?"

Laid out on the table between their two chairs was a chess board. Not just a chess board, of course—the butler that had escorted her here had left some manner of tea behind for the both of them. It smelled faintly of lavender.

"I am no Master, your highness, but I have some experience with the game."

"Excellent. I believe the first move is yours."

He had chosen the black pieces for himself, so the first move was indeed hers. It was an expensive set, with pieces of stone and a board of quartz, and the pawn was heavier in her hand than she expected—she was accustomed to wood. The pieces were clean with polish, and the board sparkled even in the lacking brightness of the shade. He answered with a pawn of his own, his hand moving at a sedate pace, but without any hesitation. For a short while, they simply played, move-for-move. The silence was not to last.

"Lieutenant, what do you think of Africa?"

She flinched, slightly. Straightening her back, she took one of her knights in hand and captured one of his bishops. "Do you refer to the imminent war, or the mess that the south has been making of itself, your Highness?"

"The two are not wholly separate matters; if the Coalition had not fallen into disarray, we wouldn't have the opportunity to wage war without involving Europe directly." Despite having chosen words of reproach, his tone was not harsh, merely level. He threatened her queen, no longer protected by her knight. "Nevertheless, I find the coming war to be a far more interesting topic than the perpetual squabbling to the south."

After looking at the board for a moment, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose. It was faint, not something she had been able to discern before, but the scents of the flowers and grass swirled together into a very pleasing aroma, twining in with the scent of the tea. Opening her eyes, and resuming the game, she spoke again.

"As you mentioned, your Highness, the Coalition is unable to respond to Britannian aggression because of its own internal conflict. The North African League Is incapable of waging war across the Sahara, which leaves only the forces in Songhai to the west, which can be held off with relative ease. Meanwhile, our fleets have superiority all along Africa's western coast, trapping them and keeping out aid they might receive. The only potential ally of any use Zaire might have is Ethiopia, with whom relations have strained over the past decade. Ultimately, while certainly able to inflict a great deal of loss, the Royal Army of Zaire is wholly incapable of resisting our invasion over any significant duration of time." He didn't respond immediately, opting to counter the moves she made in their game and renew pressure on her more valuable pieces beforehand. It was several minutes before his response.

"An accurate, if broad, description of the strategic situation." Still, his tone was level. "Certainly better than the tripe that you'll find on television, and well beyond what the so-called-experts any print sources available to the public could find. Meaning you've analyzed it yourself. Commendable, and a display of valuable skills for an officer looking for advancement." She preened. He looked up from the board, into her eyes. "But that isn't what I was asking about."

All sorts of thoughts whorled about her mind, but the only external effect was a minor intake of breath. "I apologize, your Highness."

"There is no need. You came to a reasonable conclusion, given the circumstances. It was not wholly unexpected, and certainly not disappointing. What I meant however, was that I want to know what you think of the war from a position of principle."

She stiffened, rook in hand. "I am a loyal citizen, and soldier, of the Empire, your Highness."

"I assure you, Lieutenant, that your loyalty is not in question. You would not have been permitted anywhere near Saint Darwin Street if it was, let alone past the gates of the Villa. You will go to war, should you be commanded to, and do so gladly. I am well aware of this. You will do your duty both as soldier and officer." He took hold of his king. "But you must have thoughts beyond strategy and duty." He placed his king down, further into the board.

She looked at the board, and then at the young prince. "That was an interesting move, your Highness."

"If the King does not lead, how can he expect his subjects to follow?"

"I do not believe I've ever seen such thinking applied to chess."

"It is not common, no. Regardless, it has served me well."

"To answer your earlier question, your Highness, while I know Zaire would never accede to it, I would have preferred that we were able to annex territory peacefully."

"And why is that?" The move he just made, capturing one of her last pawns with one of his own, caught her eye.

"I could give any number of purely practical reasons, your Highness, the preservation of industry and labor being chief among them."

"Indeed." There it was again, and she understood what he had done, this time. He captured one of her bishops with one of his own, when he could have captured her sole remaining knight with it and put her in check. No, check _mate_.

"And the resources of the invasion itself could be directed to other fronts, or else at least not expended and reserved for some crisis." She pulled her queen back, leaving only one of his rooks blocking his queen from checking her.

"They certainly could." He did not move to take her rook, but instead moved his queen to capture her own.

"But if I'm being truthful, your Highness, I would like to avoid casualties."

His eyes didn't leave the board. "You mean aside from how that would relate to the region's economic output?"

She raised a pawn into the air, but held it there, uncertain. "Yes, your highness. I do want to avoid the death and injury of my countrymen, of course."

The young prince looked at the piece in her hand, and quirked an eyebrow by a fraction of an inch. "Of course."

"And," she slowly moved her hand to the left, "I would prefer to avoid casualties on the other side if at all possible." She placed the rook down, capturing his queen.

"For reasons not pertaining to the economy of the prospective new region. If I understand you correctly, Lieutenant, you are saying that there is some part of you, beneath your patriotism, pragmatism, and ambition that holds compassion for people who are not Britannian." Her eyes grew wide, and she breathed in sharply. He captured a pawn of hers with his knight, putting it in in position to threaten her king. "I believe that is checkmate." She looked at the board again; there was nowhere she could move her king without putting it in danger from another piece, and no piece she could move that wasn't blocking another one of his. For a while, she stared at the board. Her hair blew in a slight breeze.

She still looked towards him, it was clear to look at her that her focus had gone. "Yes, your Highness."

He reached his hand out to the knight, who produced a stiff folder from behind his back, and handed it to his prince. Opening it, he continued. "Villeta Nu, born in the city of Acapulco to a pair of Britannian Citizens who later moved to Area One in search of employment. Eldest of three. Admitted to the Arthur Pendragon Holy Britannian Imperial Military Academy at Santa Cruz under the Dame Alsforth Scholarship. Your grades were above average, but not particularly exceptional. However, your physical ability, and your skill with a Knightmare, were. You entered the officer corps immediately after graduation, and were deployed soon after."

"Your Highness…"

"There is no mention of this in your psychological profile, but I think your origin could go a long way towards explaining source of this empathy. " He snapped the folder shut, and raised his violet eyes to her. "You are a full-blooded Britannian, but your humble origins—if one were to crunch the numbers—are not especially dissimilar from one a Number native to an Area so close to the Homeland—and so well established—as Area One." He lifted his teacup to his lips, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent. "And if one can develop sympathy for Numbers, then it isn't difficult to develop sympathy for foreigners." He drank deeply from the cup.

As he drank, her face was the very image of implacability, and did her voice belie any inner turmoil. "I am sorry to have wasted your time, your Highness."

He set the teacup down once again, and sighed, looking down into it. "And you were doing so well." Confusion twitched its way through her mask. For the first time that day, his voice had some inflection in it; his words were tinged with softness. "There are many people who would say otherwise, Captain, but I think there is a place in the world for compassion." Deep in the shade, there was a glint in his eye.

"C-Captain!"

"Yes, captain. While I did want to meet you before making my final decision, the truth is that you have an impressive list of accomplishments and references, including quite the recommendation." He turned his head to the left. "Sir Jeremiah, escort the captain back to her car."

The knight bowed his head. "At once, your Highness."

He turned back in her direction, but his eyes were fixed on the chess board. "You'll have to remain in your present quarters; all the paperwork will be dealt with by the end of the week, but you won't officially be a captain until we're mobilized to Sao Tome. It makes for a grand annoyance, but you are technically being transferred to a unit that doesn't properly exist yet. Instructions regarding deployment should arrive through your present commanding officer within a month. I look forward to working with you, Captain Nu."

Jeremiah stepped up beside her, and turned part way back to his prince. "Your Highness, shall I tell Princess Nunnally that your meeting has concluded?"

His eyes didn't move. "Only if you happen to see her. Otherwise, have a servant send word and return to your normal duties."

In a single smooth motion, Jeremiah stood before his prince, straightened his back, and bowed. Villetta hastened to do the same.

They were dismissed.

* * *

As Viletta and Jeremiah walked, the red halls of Aries Villa moaned before them. Viletta quickly realized that Jeremiah had chosen a scenic route.

She was the first to speak. "Jeremiah, why did Prince Lelouch do that? The game, I mean."

"His Highness was, as you doubtless noticed, interested in aspects of your character that would not be so obvious even to an intent observer. Empathy, at least to a foreigner, is not exactly a trait commonly approved of in soldiers of any rank, and so while his analysis of your file led him to believe you possessed it, he knew you would hide it, perhaps even from yourself."

She bit the inside of her lower lip, and then turned her head to face him. "You mean all of that—the game, pretending not to notice game-ending moves, all while keeping on the cusp of victory—was a distraction?"

"The first two, certainly. However, he neglected to mention that last part to me in advance. I suspect it had to do with his fondness for the dramatic." She stopped walking. He carried on a few steps more, before turning to look at her.

"It really has been a long time, hasn't it Jeremiah?"

"Since last we spoke, or the Academy?"

"We haven't really had the chance to talk since we graduated. Speak, maybe, but not talk."

"We haven't, have we?" He turned his head to look down the hall. The sounds of the guard changing shifts could be heard in the distance. And beneath that, the drilling of soldiers. "Six years, to go by the calendar. But it's been longer."

"It certainly has. Things have all happened so quickly. We'd parade around the grounds in our uniforms like we were the Knights of the Round, as if that made us soldiers, even after basic training beat us all into the ground."

Jeremiah let out a throaty chuckle. "I think the three of us were the worst. I raved at anyone who would listen about loyalty and purity, you glared half the campus into statues, and Kewell was practically drowning in his own pride. We made for quite the set."

"We were a pack of rats."

They both tried to restrain it, but they could not hold back their laughter. Neither truly lost their composure, but it took some time for them to return to some state permitting conversation. Yet even then, any sense of stiffness or anxiety had fled, and the red halls seemed warmer. Viletta walked up to him, and they continued on their way.

* * *

Lelouch stared down at the folder in his hand. With a flick of his thumb, it was open, its contents held against gravity by paperclips and staples, which reflected the light of the sun. The left was dominated by a picture of Lieutenant— _Captain_ —Viletta Nu, which obscured much of her service record. On the right, her psychological profile. He flicked through the pages, his thoughts related only tangentially to what he held.

"Big Brother!"

His musings disturbed, Lelouch raised his head from the folder to see Nunnaly slowly wheeling across the garden in her mechanized wheelchair, a servant at her side directing her away from obstacles. Lelouch shut the folder, the ends of the crisp paper slapping as it was shut, and laid it down on the chess board as he stood. A brisk pace soon brought him to his sister's side.

* * *

It loomed. From his perch in that monolith of steel, Lelouch could still make out the people and vehicles below, but there was no structure around that matched it. Through the window, on the ground below, sprawled a complex of barracks and warehouses and offices and armories—idols and shrines to the god that was martial prowess, and Lelouch stood at the threshold of the home of its greatest altar.

Yes, Temple Tower was aptly named.

And below, the throngs of priests and acolytes—men and women that had achieved some officerial rank—rushed about, engaged in preparations for the next great sacrament. And, though he could not see them, he knew the floors below him held the same. He had seen them—the grey vestments that were their uniforms here, the diligence of zealots carrying out a sacred task, the furor of the possessed. There had been only a single thing that could disrupt them.

"My Lord, might I ask your thoughts?"

His eyes shifted to look at his knight, who was, as ever, garbed in the formal dress of his rank and office. "As we walked through the bottom floor to the elevator, everyone stopped whatever important task they were doing to bow or salute."

"And if the same people see you again on the way out, they will think their fortunes doubly infinite."

"I wonder how long this has been a city of fanatics."

"All of my quarter century, at the very least. And if I might be so bold, I would say that the whole of the country is taken with the same zeal."

They were quiet again for a time. "We should be going." Lelouch's voice was low. "I am to be one of the foremost priests in the coming rite." He could feel his Knight bow slightly at the hip, and ever so deeply at the neck. Lelouch turned to go, and Jeremiah's footsteps were behind him and slightly to his right, ever his shadow.

* * *

Lelouch had to leave Jeremiah behind at the door. While Britannia colored it with a religious devotion, the business of war was much the same as anywhere in the world. While no person—and certainly not he—would doubt Jeremiah's loyalty to his Lord and the Crown, there were certain things that had to be done, and operational security was paramount. The only people permitted wore either the greatcoats that served as uniforms to military command, or nondescript suits.

The report in front of him was long past the perfect, clean state he had received it in. The pages had been crinkled, and many had been worn around the three small holes through which it was held in its binder. The binder itself—presently facing the table he sat at—bore nothing but the Lion and Serpent of the Britannian coat of arms over a blue to match the coat he presently wore, but was unmarred by any sort of use.

The binder lay upon a large and semicircular table of red mahogany, and the others present wore coats the same color as his own—save that most were trimmed with black cloth, his own was trimmed with white. The ranking General—one Duke Calares—bore trim of gold.

There was a man was standing in front of the table, the only distinction of his garb that it was wholly without distinction, and was beside a screen displaying troop deployments along a coastline. "As you can see," the images on the screen moved as he spoke, "the Crystal Mountains make any amphibious assault along the southern coast impractical, so our best option will be to conduct several simultaneous amphibious landings just east of the Niger Delta region, just inside the northwestern border. This will allow us the greatest ability to both hold the NAL forces in Songhai, and move on Mbamu."

This had, of course, all been easily discernable from the briefing documents they had before them. One of the other commanders spoke up, "the intelligence here says that Zaire has been manufacturing some aquatic weapon in the vein of the Knightmare Frame. Has there been any new intelligence on that?"

"Regrettably, my Lord, we have only been able to marginally refine our size estimates. We know for certain that it can be no smaller than one of our Glasgows."

"Which means it will likely be larger. Given the manufacturing supply chain that has been traced, they will likely have some function as stationary defenses."

"Tor," another of the generals said, "there is no cause for concern. If they have some function as underwater artillery, then the number and speed of our Portmans will prove too much."

"Salthorne I must disagree. While it is true a company of Portmans would prove far too agile for a company of these devices, they could still very well wreak havoc on our transports."

So it went. The Commanders debated the virtues of tactical approach, the intelligence officers answered questions, and Lelouch remained silent. General Calares took a leading position in the conversation. He never quite shut down dissent, but swung his authority against it to push the discussion in the direction he pleased.

"Your highness," Lelouch looked from the intelligence report into the face of the speaker, General Calares, "you've been rereading the intelligence report intensely, but you have yet to offer any of your thoughts."

"I apologize, general. It looks to me like these mobile underwater artillery units will prove the most difficult part of their defenses to penetrate, if only because they have managed to stymie our intelligence forces so much more effectively on this matter than on others." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. "However, what we have here is, I think, sufficient to determine how they might be implemented tactically. Since they would need to be anchored on to something in order to serve as effective artillery, we could use a map of the seafloor to determine the most likely positions."

"And from there," Calares continued, a faint smile creeping along beneath his mustache, "we could clear them out from the path of our assault, or even draw their attention away from out intended landing position. A more elegant solution than intercepting supplies or communications, and far more malleable. I shall assign a division of intelligence officers to your command in this endeavor."

Lelouch did not bristle visibly. "Yes, general."

"Now, with that matter dealt with," Commander Salthorne began, "we still have the issue of their defenses on the land to deal with."

* * *

"That man is a fop."

"Jeremiah, please." The both of them were silent, and the only noise was the unmarked car's engine, and the myriad sounds of Lelouch's escort keeping pace with them. The driver, separated as he was in his compartment at the front of the car, was silent.

Jeremiah collected himself before he spoke again. "My lord, this is a slight against both your honor and your intellect."

Lelouch leaned back into the red leather of his seat, and looked across the cabin at his knight. "Perhaps, but so too is that I was placed under his command in the first place."

"Do you believe that this assignment has to do with Lady Marianne's death?"

"My father assigning me to the invasion, but not putting me in charge, is a deviation from how he has acted with my older siblings. My mother's murder is the only other appreciable difference between them and myself." Lelouch leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "As for Calares, it's all but impossible that he knows anything about what happened that day. He's just another egotist high on the fumes of power he lacks mind to comprehend, or the skill to make use of. Those like him fester uncounted in the Empire."

"This one does so at your expense."

"Most nobles are resentful of the royalty, and he is taking the opportunity to act on that. After all, my present position could very easily be interpreted as a sign of the Emperor's disfavor."

"Do you think it something else, my Lord?"

Lelouch opened his eyes, and stared into the car's ceiling. "I have always found it difficult to read my father—when he isn't all bombast and bluster, at least—but I get the distinct impression that he's up to something."

"I wonder, would that make you the target of his scheme, a pawn, or the instrument of his success."

Lelouch brought his gaze down, and met Jeremiah's with his own. "Whatever the case, Calares isn't smart enough to make it out the other end."

Jeremiah met his steady gaze with a small smile.


	6. The Engines of War

So,

OBSERVER01: I'm glad to have you.

Chimera629: Well, since Lelouch stayed in Britannia, he—and for anyone reading this who hasn't finished the first season of the show, this is a minor spoiler—knew that Marianne dismissed her guard the night she was attacked, so there wasn't really much to improve. Other than, y'know, not dismissing the guard under any circumstances. As to Jeremiah, well, he's Lelouch's knight, not Nunnaly's, and while he cares a great deal about Nunnaly's safety, Jeremiah has obligations to ensure Lelouch's safety first.

Shini Kurogane: I have a great many thoughts about pairings, and while I definitely have some plans, I'm still sifting through possibilities. Nevertheless, I'll be keeping my cards close to my chest.

And to Onespiker, Scarease, the guest, and Shini Kurogane (again!), thank you for your kind words.

* * *

Lelouch was not accustomed to the sea air.

He was growing to dislike it.

The blue expanse of the ocean rolled in from over the horizon, swallowing the curve of the earth until it reached the first ship at the harbor's edge. In the harbor, the vast waters could almost not be seen for the sea of steel. Agility-Class, the barrage; Salient-Class, the swarm; Sentinel-Class, the alert; Predator-Class, the fierce; Dreadnought-Class, the mighty; and Host-Class, the beating heart. On the larger of these were an unthinkable number of Portman-Class Knightmare Frames, primed to dance as only the damned could beneath the waves. All had their compliment of munitions batteries, ready to tear metal and to turn men into raining bits of gore.

Lelouch had never held the illusion that war would be pleasant. Once, he had not entertained thoughts of war at all, back when the gardens of Aries Villa had been the whole of the world. Then, after the world ended, he had not been permitted to think of glory, when Darlton had become his teacher in matters martial. Now, as he stood on the very precipice–

The walls trembled. In the corner of his eye, something like a mass of triangles entered the sky, at once passing over the air beneath with utmost grace, and tearing away at the air above with all the fury of thunder. As it flew, the aircraft passed more clearly into his vision. More followed. Many more rose from the great Hosts in the harbor. They were of two parts: the bombers, with their fateful payload; and the fighters, light on the air and armed with wrath. The flight of both was aided by nascent Float technology, cutting both fuel and noise drastically, and rendering the enemy hopelessly outclassed.

And the salt on the wind stung his eyes.

* * *

The videophone shut off. Lelouch leaned back in his chair and sighed, closing and rubbing his eyes. He sat behind a desk, covered with neat piles of paper, a handful of folders, and two binders—each holding diagrams, maps, and a precise lines of text. The walls were bare, save the screen hanging on the wall before him, which had just held the greatest treasure in the entire world.

"Is there a problem, my Lord?" Being stood behind him, Lelouch could not see his knight's face.

"That conversation sent my mind towards the new Captain. Which, I must admit, was the absolute last thing I was expecting when it began." He closed his eyes, and leaned his head on his hand.

"You said Kewell passed muster."

"He was a bit more textbook than I would have liked, but his abilities are more than sufficient."

"My Lord, if I might ask, why did you select Kewell? As much as I remember our friendship fondly, he is lacking in the aspects of character that drew you to Captain Nu over other qualified candidates."

"Captain Soresi," Lelouch began, "is by all accounts average in temperament, as the nobility goes. In terms of philosophy, he is a step or two closer to my ideal than the average Britannian officer, but I suspect I could have found a closer match with enough effort." He reached beneath the desk, where a keyboard was tucked away on a hidden shelf, his hands tracing out familiar keystrokes. "However, if you will recall, he was party to bizarre events in Area Nine."

"The Epsilon-K Report."

"Indeed. More of my father's secrets. I expect Captain Soresi to keep them, but having a rapport with someone who has experienced such things will be of great use once circumstances change."

The screen came alive. A search bar was quickly filled with a name. A loading bar appeared.

"Time takes all of us, in the end, and I need to be prepared for when his turn comes. For Nunnally's sake."

A man, uniformed in red, stood behind a desk, one hand raised in salute. "Captain Mors reporting, your highness!"

Lelouch placed his elbows on the desk, and threaded his fingers together. "At ease. Mors, I am given to understand that you are aware of Nunnally's idea?"

"Yes, my Lord." Mors lowered his hand to his side, his back still straight as a steel girder. "I have compiled three separate security plans, but she asked that I wait for her to broach the subject with you."

"Good. I will need them for review."

"Shall I begin making logistical arrangements, your highness?"

Lelouch closed his eyes. "Yes. Contact the Viceroyal Administration before the end of the day, and proceed with basic accommodations, but hold off on doing anything more until you receive confirmation from me."

"Yes, your highness!" With a single keystroke, the screen once more went dark. Lelouch heaved a sigh.

"Your highness, Prince Clovis will have access to the uncensored report. If whatever happened in Area Nine should in any way approach being a security threat, it will be dealt with."

"I am well aware, Jeremiah, but that doesn't make the pill any easier to swallow. Regardless, thank you."

* * *

The aircraft were distant now, approaching the horizon, as their paths began to deviate as they made their way to their disparate targets. Lelouch reached into the pocket of his coat, and pulled out a small black book, taking it into his left hand and flicking it open with his thumb. The day's date was written at the top of the page, and a number of notes were written below it. Taking a nearby pen into his right hand, he scrawled down a new note in tight, neat script.

 _2218 Hours: Night bomber regiments take flight for the initial bombardment. The first act of the war. Eleven days to the invasion proper begins with the amphibious invasion. All preparations are proceeding on schedule. General remains obstinate._

He could almost smell blood on the air, beneath the salt—more likely some matter with iron in the harbor. Replacing the book in his coat, he turned from the balcony.

* * *

"We now believe that Zaire has access to undeclared Sakuradite."

"I'm afraid I will need a good deal more detail than that, Lelouch."

The papers on the desk had been shifted around, the folders were all different, and now there were only two binders instead of three. The screen before him bore a face that had not been seen on it before, which had abandoned its usual aloof serenity in favor of a masque more attentive and solemn. All else in this room was the same as every day before this one. Lelouch leaned forward, his elbows resting on what were amongst the few bare patches on the desk's surface.

"It has become quite clear Schneizel. We've taken the data that we've been able to gather on these armored autonomous units, calculated a range of possible levels of power consumption, compared them to verified industrial production of said weaponry, and there simply isn't enough Sakuradite to keep them all running. With our most generous estimates, they would require a combined production and importation of thirty-two percent more Sakuradite than Zaire's declared reserves and imports, which is to say nothing of suspected but unconfirmed unit production, the possibility of using Sakuradite-based technology to accelerate the production various armaments, or the fact that the actual numbers are much less favorable than we allowed for. It's all in the documents that I'm sending you."

"And by doing so they violate one of the precious few treaties the international community has managed to commit our father to." Schneizel raised hand to his chin, and his eyes were cast downward as they closed slightly.

Blocked from Schneizel's view by the desk, one of Lelouch's hands idly tapped the handle of a drawer, in which rested a copy of the treaty in question—The Seventh Accord of Addis Ababa. "With the tension between the two countries being what it is, this could cause Ethiopia to cut the flow of goods—or, if they are complicit, turn the country to chaos. Wielded by a skilled hand, at least."

Schneizel's gaze rose again to meet Lelouch's, and his hand fell back out of the screen. He spoke with the merest hint of laughter. "And you thought of me. I'm touched, Lelouch."

Lelouch leaned back in his chair, clasping his fingers together. "I knew for certain that you would see the value in this."

Schneizel's eyes flashed with something too quick for Lelouch to perceive exactly what. "Which would imply that one of your colleagues did not."

Lelouch grimaced. "Worse than that, I'm afraid."

"Duke Calares?" Schneizel's voice lilted, "I did not take him for a fool."

"Perhaps there was a time where he wasn't one, but if it ever was then it has passed. He refuses to modify his plans, despite the fact that even with some of our more cautious estimates, too many of Zaire's new armored units exist for them to serve an exclusively submersible function. If he hadn't delegated the actual landing operation then we'd all wind up drowned before the first hour was finished. And while Colonel Tor isn't incompetent, he can't think around the unknown variables the invasion presents, which means I'm left to plan for the landing myself."

Schneizel leaned back in his own seat, and his mouth pressed into a reserved line. "Legitimate though your grievances are, I assume your digression serves some greater purpose?"

Lelouch smiled. "I will leave it to you, dear brother, to determine how exactly the information I have provided you should be used, as that is something which your resources and abilities are better prepared for. However, I do have a single thing that I would ask of you."

"And what might that be?"

Lelouch told him.

The merest corners of Schneizel's mouth twitched upwards. "I do believe I should be able to manage that, Lelouch?"

* * *

The door opened with a hiss. The lights turned on with an audible snap, but Lelouch screwed his eyes shut, and fumbled at the wall until they were turned off again. His footfalls were not quite swallowed by the carpeting. The room was largely bare, with nothing upon the walls save a coat of pale blue paint, and no furniture save a trunk, a dresser, a nightstand, and a bed, on which Lelouch was soon seated. Following that, Lelouch's coat was quickly draped over the foot of the bed. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, resting his head in one hand while the other hung between his legs.

 _"I don't mean to be selfish big brother, it's just–"_

 _"You aren't being selfish at all, Nunnally. It's actually a very good idea. I'm actually surprised I didn't think of it first."_

"But I did, at least in part." The empty room gave no answer to him. "I knew you would be lonely there, with only silent servants and protectors there to keep you company."

 _"It's a relief to hear you say that. I already talked to Captain Mors about it, and he told me that he's been coming up with different ideas for how to adapt the household guard. He takes is job very seriously."_

 _"As well he should. It's good to hear that he's been planning. It'll help things go a lot more smoothly."_

"God, you must have been lonely since my commission–since this whole mess started. But I just wouldn't see it." Lelouch looked up. His head rose until rising became falling, and his head fell until the bed got in its way. His mouth parted to peak, and his lips formed the words, but the sound was swallowed by the resounding silence.

 _"Well Nunnally, I hear that there are already quite a few higher profile students at Ruben's school. Not royalty, maybe, but higher nobility. I think things will turn out well there._

* * *

The light raked across the stone walls, before settling on an old man seated, cross legged, on an outcropping of rock. Most of his body was obscured by red silk, but his face was uncovered, and his worn, dark skin was pulled tight over the pointed bones of his skull. Indeed, he might have passed for a man who, though past his prime, was much younger than he was, save for the pale grey of his beard, which hung low in tight curls. The top of his head, in contrast, had been sheared down to the scalp. His eyes were crewed shut, and he raised a hand to cover them.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

The old man, his eyes still shut, waved for him to come close. His hands fumbled to his side, and the pale gentle glow of a lantern bloomed there. The newcomer walked over and took a seat at the old man's other side, switching his flashlight off. The old man motioned for him to speak.

"They started bombing us. On land and in the sea." The old man gave him a questioning look. "They're flying their planes low and firing some sort of missile into the water. They took out thirty-six percent of the Kongamato stationed underwater. We had to pull back to prevent further loss of men and material. Father's in a panic." The old man slowly nodded. "We've finished final tests of the Mokèlé-mbèmbé, so I should at least be able to take the field as needed. Prospects, such as they are, may be grim, but we'll make them bleed for every inch of land they take." The old man laughed. It sounded one part gasp and two parts hacking cough, but he didn't appear to be in the least bit of discomfort.

The younger man sat awhile, gazing into the darkness at the edge of the lantern's glow. "I found their spies. All of them." The old man spat on the ground. "Abele made a show of their deaths. It was strange, with what our plans are." The old man looked at him sternly, and he looked back. "Don't worry yourself about me. I am resolved." The old man nodded at him. "Speaking of which, I received word from Archangel. Everything is prepared for us on their end."

The old man laid out one hand, palm facing up, and held it in the air. Slowly, the younger man placed his own into his elder's. The old man's hand closed tight, the iron cords that were his muscles all but crushing the younger man's hand. Ignoring the pain, he closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply.

And all was **light**.


End file.
